Donal Mahoney- A Poem

Lifts Her Like A Chalice

 

The weekday Mass at 6 a.m.

brings the old folks out 

from bungalows 

around the church.

They move like caterpillars  

down sidewalks, 

some with canes, 

some on walkers. 

Father Doyle says the Mass 

and then goes back to the rectory 

to care for his mother 

who cannot move or speak 

because of a stroke.

And every Sunday at noon 

when the church is full, 

Father Doyle, in full vestments, 

wheels his mother

in a lump

down the middle aisle

and lifts her like a chalice 

and places her in the front pew  

before he ascends to the altar.

Sometimes at night,

when his mother's asleep, 

Father Doyle comes back to the Church 

and rehearses in the dark 

three hymns she long ago 

asked him to sing at her funeral.

He practices the hymns 

because the doctor said  

she could go at any time.

When that time comes,

he doesn't want to miss a note.

The last thing she ever said was 

"Son, I'll be listening."